


Survival

by by_veidt



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Animalistic, Bottom Hannibal, Clothed Sex, Disassociation, Extremely Dubious Consent, In Both Directions, M/M, Mutual Non-Con, Physical Restraint, Sex on Furniture, Sleepwalking, Sleepwalking Will Graham, Spit As Lube, Table Sex, Top Will Graham, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 05:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11571711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/by_veidt/pseuds/by_veidt
Summary: Will's mind wanders in a direction Hannibal did not expect, but the results are not the most unfavorable.Takes place in later season two.





	Survival

**Author's Note:**

> Just another writing exercise, and I finally started watching Hannibal, so here we are. Everyone loves some dubious consent--well, not everyone. I'll probably continue it soon.  
> I actually wanted to call it 'Good Will Hunting'. : )  
> Also 'To Catch A Predator'; 'Dances With Wills'  
> Enjoy.  
> And I love getting my ego stroked.

The room was alluringly still apart from the lull of Andre Rieu that floated through the room and the delicate friction of a pencil tip to thick paper. Back and fourth the graphite stroked, constructing parallel lines of darkening shade cast over the form underneath. The corner of Hannibal's mouth twitched up, the vague glimmer of a smile lightening his otherwise stoic affect. His eyes flitted up to the chair where Will had fallen asleep, or passed out—he wasn't there. There was a faint quirk of his eyebrow before a deep inhale, a familiar warmth and bitter aftershave filling his senses. He turned slowly in his chair with a soft smile, Will looming behind him, eyelids fluttering for a moment over a darkened countenance. “Is there something on your mind, Will?”

“See...” he growled lunging for the other, fists curling roughly in Hannibal's charcoal vest and the robin-egg blue buttondown underneath. Hannibal could feel his eyes widen only slightly as he was lifted from his seat, breath leaving him in a hard huff as his back collided with his desk, back of his head smacking into the body of the block of marble. His hands grabbed at Will's forearms, holding him there as much as he resisted him, observing, sensing, and those dark and predatory pits of pupil stared into him with a ferocity that was not Will's and all of him as well. Between moments Will's hands flipped, wrapping around the other's wrists and pinning them firmly against the sheened hardwood of the table near his waist. Will urged himself between Hannibal's knees and suddenly Hannibal understood, felt the solid press of the determination and lust that veiled Will's gaze. His strength in this moment was remarkable, Hannibal noted when he pulled against him with little give; if only Will consciously knew how powerful he was, and Hannibal now knew that he would always have to be two step ahead of the man—if he lived to fight him again.

“Will...” Hannibal offered with a dryness in his throat, met with a hand around his throat that forced and audible choke from him, Hannibal's free hand resisting the press against his trachea. Will's other hand swiftly targeted Hannibal's belt, pulling it free with a knowing ease while Hannibal's hand groped around the desk for his scalpel. Hannibal felt his fly spread open, hand grabbing on to the heavy bronze shape of the feather that lay near his shoulder. His knuckled cracked against the surface of the table as Will grabbed his wrist and slammed it down, a groan straining against the hand on his neck while the object tumbled from his hand. “Will,” he tried firmer, but it only came out in a wheezing breath. The hand pressed firmer on his windpipe, pulse throbbing beneath it and he could feel himself grow lightheaded. His other hand was released, Hannibal gripping Will's wrist with both as he feebly struggled to push him back. Hannibal felt the cool rush of air and the warming surface of the finished wood through his shirt against his lower back as he was partially divested of his pants and briefs, resisting the flutter behind his eyes that threatened to darken his vision.

There was a cool press between his legs and he had the breath to hitch he would have, Will's index and middle finger breaching the tight and resistant ring of muscle as the doctor struggled weakly against him. He closed his eyes slowly, dragging in a long breath as he felt his heart speed up, the sharp and intense burn blazing up his from its point of genesis. Will worked—forced—his fingers in further, twisting and merciless as they crawled further in to the convulsing heat. Hannibal fought a shudder as they glanced over his prostate, light sparking in the dark that encroached on the corners of his vision, a diffused version of Will hovering over him, cast in darkness by the lights behind him and for a moment they all seemed to blend together. And he delighted in the satisfaction he would briefly gain in the moment before Will actually killed him, or would he relent when he finally fell unconscious—there was a sick amusement in humoring the idea of Will using his unconscious body to satisfy his carnal desires that this bout of time loss and unconsciousness had summoned.

The pressure on his neck lightened, just enough to keep him conscious, for which he was grateful to a mild degree, the sting he was feeling elsewhere quickly giving way to the insistent stroking and sparks of pleasure that arched into his cock. “See...” Will growled above him, almost unintelligible and Hannibal could not determine if it was the lack of blood flow or a worsening of Will's linguistic mastery. The sudden drag of his digits withdrawing drew the doctor's attention, the distinct sound of the other spitting into his hand giving rise to a peculiar tightness in Hannibal's chest that was an infrequent acquaintance. There was in insistent press of hot, slicked flesh that gave Hannibal cause to relax in his haze, hand pulling back from his throat and a rush of cold air filling his lungs in the most satisfying gasp, just before it was shoved back out of him by a hard thrust into his body. He clenched his teeth around a snarl, or what he would amend the memory to describe rather than the startled sound of borderline cry that threatened his facade. The sensation was a strike of lightning at the base of his spine, blindingly white and hot and he was certain something gave way that otherwise wouldn't have. And for a moment he regretted his imaginings of the thickness of Will, trapped hard and needy between his fingers and thumb as he gave him long, just this side of satisfying strokes; the way Will's lips would part in urgent gasps and wordless pleas, fingers gripping against fine leather of the chair arms. Regretted imagining as if some power of his thought had brought it to his reality, and he wasn't enjoying the reality nearly as much as the fantasy. He noticeably grimaced on the next shove, more slick but just as painful, deeper and demanding, forcing Hannibal's body to concede, to surrender, and he was trying if only for his own benefit.

He felt like he had forgotten Will's hands around his wrists again until they tightened, bruising and insistent. He could feel the seam of his cuffs and the edge of his watch band digging into his skin and the slight tremble in Will's hands as he held him, splayed him, possessed him—a sacrifice on the alter of his desk. Hannibal swallowed, and closed his eyes for a moment, isolating the idea of the pain and working to dissolve it—surprisingly, the movement helped. What eased the glide in and out of his body he wasn't certain, but he had a fairly good guess, and the next thrust put Will deeper—deep enough that Hannibal's legs tightened in a bounce against the man, an ebbing swell of pleasure jolting his nerves, but not enough to quell the screaming in his nerves. But a part of it was rapturous, true and honest and so deliciously vulgar. His thighs twitched again, sending a pulse through his half-hard cock that stirred him further, brow pinching as he took in a quick breath. And as he breathed he could feel his body acquiesce—accommodating the intrusion physically and psychologically, surrendering to the brutality that bloomed so beautifully in the other. This was not his intention or design, but it was Will's and it was wonderful—it was a shame he wouldn't remember it.

A disgraceful sound left Hannibal when Will seated himself completely in him and let out a low growl. “See... what I am.” He withdrew and slid himself back in completely and Hannibal almost shuddered, erection pressing in to the folds of his pants as they were urged down by Will's body.

“I see you, Will,” he breathed, backs of his hands dragging against the surface as the other guided them up farther, knuckles bumping into a glass surface. It was followed by the clatter of a disassembling object bouncing against the floor and spreading out. Hannibal's eyes found Will's.“I liked that clock,” he stated placidly with a twinge of disappointment. His eyes fluttered closed after a hard thrust, a groan pulling at the back of his throat. He felt his feet flex and strain in his shoes as his legs pulled tighter with Will's quickened pace. Will was panting over him, sweat beading over his skin as he repeatedly shoved himself as deep as he would go into the body under him, holding him, claiming his right over him.

The pain had grown dull when the flood of epinephrine finally hit, spiking occasionally over the wash of tingling that gripped the back of his brain. Hannibal's eyes opened again, heavy lidded and wet, searching out the dark gaze of the other. He could feel the intense heat between them, smell the heady and musky scent of Will through the artificial one he tried to hide himself with, and his cock twitched, fully flushed against the pressure between them.

Hannibal could feel the edge of the desk biting into his flesh as Will's hips snapped forward, another growl surging up through him when Hannibal squirmed in his grip, but he was no longer attempting escape, body solely reacting on instinct to the embodied manifestation of their relentless push and pull of each other. Will's pace grew quicker, relentless in his urging, breath hot on Hannibal's chest and neck, labored and rough with a animalistic timbre in the back of his throat. And Hannibal couldn't help the faint smile that grew over his parted lips as he breathed in the sweat and sex that culminated between them. A quieted moan pulled from his lungs, turning into a sharp and throaty gasp when Will bit down over his neck, buffeted by the thick edge of his collar. The pulsing swell under the threat of Will's teeth matched that inside him, a low groan stalling against Hannibal's neck. His body relaxed as Will's movement ceased momentarily, and there was a distinct change that occurred.

Will's breath was hard and his hands flexed, teeth dragging over the fabric slowly as he pulled his head up, and suddenly, he was shivering, shaking. Hannibal swallowed slowly before speaking. “Will,” he offered gently.

“Wh-what's...” he breathed, lifting himself enough to look over the man under him. “What time is it?”

“If you'll allow me my hand, I can tell you,” Hannibal responded evenly.

Will looked to his right hand, Hannibal's left, slowly unfurling his white-knuckle grasp on the other. Hannibal pulled his arm over his face with a cautioned movement before setting it back to the desk again. “Ten thirty-two, in the evening,” he offered with a controlled normalcy, eyes settling back on the gaze Will was distinctly avoiding.

“What... did I do?”

“I think we both know the answer to that question.”

And as if it had just occurred to Will that he was still intimately secured in the other, panic flashed over him, sucking in a sobbing gasp and another. “Ohmygod,” he choked, pushing himself back, Hannibal flinching at the sudden emptiness of Will withdrawing as his legs fell slack over the edge of the desk. He sat up slowly, shoving his still aching erection back within the confines of his briefs, tucking his shirt into his pants as he redressed himself with an evenness that fueled Will's anxiety turned anger. “This can't be happening,” he huffed, hands to his head as he paced quickly, and as Hannibal looked up, a slight turn of amusement crossed his face. “You,” he turned with a lividity that almost startled the doctor. “You did this.”

“Had I been aware of your intentions, I would have prepared. Though, I'm not entirely object to your spontaneity.” He pulled at the edges of his vest to smooth it out briefly, looking back up to the other with a veiled smile.

Will was seething, disgusted, sick to his stomach, and somewhere beneath the roil of guilt and anger, satisfied, and the deep and knowing look Hannibal gave him made it exponentially worse and so egregiously better. And he couldn't think, chest tight, head spinning, reeling, eyes darting to Hannibal as he levered himself off the desk, picking up a notebook and walking smoothly over to the chairs and sitting with a slight tightness that would to any other eyes gone unnoticed. He crossed his legs with a similar tension and gestured to the other chair with a indicative nod. “Please, have a seat.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I missed #justfuckmeup : (


End file.
